


Somos Querido

by Maplesyrup



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Cablanca, Cablanca Week 20, F/M, First Kiss, Hawaii, beach, first vacation, sand, sun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maplesyrup/pseuds/Maplesyrup
Summary: Cablanca Week Day 7: Free Choice!
Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	Somos Querido

Marta and Alice darted around Benoit, conversing in Spanish as they packed the rental car for the trip to the beach. He watched them with a fond smile, hefting his own bag of things over his shoulders and picking up Elena’s as he ambled to the car.

The Cabrera family had invited him to come along on their first trip to Hawaii. He’d been honored and more than a little touched when they’d asked if he’d like to join them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken an honest-to-goodness vacation. Well, one that hadn’t turned into an impromptu case, anyway. He loaded the bags in the back of the Jeep Wrangler he’d rented for the four of them, chuckling as Elena shouted to her girls to stop being rude and speak English.

“Oh, it’s fine, Mrs. Cabrera,” Benoit said as she stopped at his side with a shake of her head. “I’ve never seen Marta so happy and besides, Spanish is a beautiful language.”

She sighed and shot him a look of maternal frustration. " _ Hijito mio _ , call me Mrs. Cabrera one more time and I’ll put salt in your sugar bowl.” She elbowed him good-naturedly and he chuckled as she moved towards the Jeep, joining her daughters in their chatter. He didn’t speak Spanish, not yet at any rate, but Marta’s animated face and quick speech to her sister as Marta slid into the driver’s seat left no doubt as to her mood. He took a seat in the back with Alice, waving away Elena’s offer to sit in the front. Marta kept up the conversation with Alice as she backed out of the hotel parking lot and took them onto the highway.

The breeze felt heavenly, lifting his hair as they drove. He settled back against the seat, closing his eyes as the conversation switched to Marta and her mother.

“I’ve never seen you out of a suit before, Detective.” He turned his head to see Alice grinning at him, her neon sunglasses perched on her head. “You look good in shorts and a tee-shirt; you should sport those more often.”

Benoit smiled, blushing a bit at the compliment. “That’s very kind, Alice. Thank you.” He adjusted his shirt over his stomach, self-conscious of the softness at his middle, even as the rest of him was in good shape.  _ The perils of age cannot be helped _ , he thought, trying not to let bitterness into his thoughts. 

Alice leaned towards him, distracting him from his thoughts. “Hey, can I ask you something?” she said, lowering her voice.

“By all means.” He leaned in a bit as well. “But why are we whispering?”

“So Marta doesn’t hear us.” She winked, then glanced at the front before returning mischievous eyes to him, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth. “Is that your swimsuit or are you wearing a speedo under your shorts?”

He blinked, nonplussed. Why on earth would she ask a question like that? A speedo? At his age? He’d never been brave enough to wear one of those when he was in the  _ best _ of shape, and he sure as hell wouldn’t attempt it now. “N-no,” he murmured back, “this is my swimsuit.”

“Oh.” Alice wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “Damn.” 

The next thing he knew, she leaned forward and muttered something to Marta he couldn’t make out.

“Alice!  _ ¡Qué carajo! _ ” Marta snapped at her sister. Elena turned around and issued a volley of rapid Spanish at her youngest, pointing to the backseat. Alice responded, a protest in her voice as she pointed at her sister. Elena cut her off with a look.

“Ugh,  _ fine _ . Whatever.” Alice slumped back to her seat, looking irritatedly chastised. Her mother sent her one more glare before her expression cleared and she reached back to pat Benoit’s knee, smiling at him.

“I hope you’re hungry, Benoit,” she said. “I packed enough food for a small army.”

Benoit wisely kept his expression neutral, nodding.

“Indeed I am, Elena.”

* * *

Whatever argument had happened in the car was apparently forgotten as Alice grabbed a bag and a chair, dragging her mother to find the best spot they could on the beach while Marta and Benoit unpacked the rest of their bags.

“I don’t know where Alice gets all that energy,” Marta said, shaking her head fondly. “It’s like she has lightning in her veins. Even when we were kids, it was hell for my mom to get her to settle down for even a minute.”

Benoit took the cooler and the heavier bags as Marta shouldered hers and locked the car. “I take it you were the good child in the family?” He grinned as she shot him a droll look before shoving a pair of black sunglasses onto her face. “Whatever happened to corrupt you, Nurse Cabrera?”

“Well, I’m filthy rich now, so I suppose that’s what’s done it.” She grinned. “I’m doomed.”

They found Alice and Elena, the former spreading a bright yellow towel on the white sand while Elena sat in the beach chair. Benoit and Marta deposited their things and Benoit signed out a large beach umbrella from the kiosk near the walkway they’d come down. Setting it up was easy enough, affording them a good-sized patch of shade. Alice tugged her towel out of reach of the shade.

“I’m not trying to stay pasty, thanks.”

Benoit could almost hear Marta roll her eyes behind her sunglasses as she spread her own towel next to his chair in the shade. “We're Cuban, Alice.”

“Exactly,” Alice retorted, peeling off her beach cover. She settled on her towel, a near-perfect match for her bright one-piece. “ _ Somos Cubanos _ . Tanning is our birthright.”

Marta snorted as she anchored the top corners of her towel with her shoes. Her task accomplished, she stood and made her way to the cooler. “Anyone hungry?”

Alice and Elena made their requests and food was passed out.

“Benoit?”

He looked up to see Marta at his side, the light breeze ruffling the edges of the blue linen romper she wore. It was the most amount of skin he’d ever seen her show. When she’d first emerged from her room in the hotel suite, his entire being had zeroed in on her bare shoulders and sleek legs. He’d gritted his teeth instead and focused his attention on rearranging his beach bag, despite how little was in it. They were _ friends _ . She didn’t deserve him leching after her. 

But now, to have her so close, with her hand on his shoulder and that sweet smile he could swear she only used around him, he was having trouble remembering his own name. It didn’t help that the hot sun had given her a light sheen of perspiration, the breeze pushing the scents of coconut sunscreen and warm, female skin at him in gentle yet relentless waves. He swallowed, trying like hell to remain calm.

“Did you want anything?” She’d put her hair up but a lock had escaped the messy bun and fell to curve against her cheek. He wanted to reach out and tuck it behind her ear but settled for a bottle of water. Unscrewing the top, he drained it in moments, hoping the ice-cold water would cool down his overheated blood.

She settled onto her towel with half a sandwich and a book—one of Harlan’s stories—and he suppressed a sigh as she rolled to her stomach, kicking her legs up and crossing her feet at the ankles. Rummaging around in his bag for his Kindle and prescription sunglasses, he settled back and tried to relax into the early afternoon heat.

* * *

“God _ damn _ , it’s hot.”

Benoit spared Alice a glance at her exclamation but returned his attention to his book, having managed to notch himself comfortably in the story.

“Marta, aren’t you hot?”

“No,” she responded absently, turning a page. “ _ I _ chose to be in the shade.”

Benoit muffled a snort of amusement at the mixture of patience and sass Marta delivered to her sister with one simple sentence.

“Whatever. Come swim with me!”

He heard Marta’s book close but kept his eyes firmly on his Kindle. She sighed.

“Fine, but just for a little while, ok?”

Alice squealed happily and Benoit heard the sound of fabric hitting towels before the sisters ventured off to the surf. He heard another sigh, but this from behind him.

“Alice always was a handful,” Elena said, her voice rich with fondness. “But a good girl, despite it. Marta was my steady one. Always patient, always kind.” She paused. “Always honest,” she finished wryly. Benoit chuckled in understanding, turning to face the Cabrera matriarch.

“Your daughter truly is special, Elena.” He smiled but she sent him a shrewd look.

“Which one?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

A smile lingered in the corner of her mouth. “You said my  _ daughter _ , singular.” She shrugged in apparent nonchalance. “I’m just curious which one.”

“Oh, I…that is, I-I meant  _ both _ your daughters,” he stammered. “I misspoke. My apologies.”

Elena laughed, reaching for him and patting his arm. “Relax, I’m just teasing you. Marta  _ is _ special, it’s true.” She settled back, regarding him rather smugly.

_ Oh, hell. _

“Elena, I don’t…I wasn’t…” He turned fully in his chair to face her. “I would never mean to disrespect—”

“Stop, stop.” She waved a hand. “It’s obvious to everyone but Marta how you feel about her, Benoit.” The smile, so like Marta’s, returned. “The question is,  _ Hijito _ , what are you going to do about that?”

Elena pointed at something behind him. Puzzled, he turned and caught the sight of Marta as she emerged from the ocean, her sister beside her. Water glistened in the sun as it ran down her body, her hair loose and wet, pushed back from her face. She threw back her head on a laugh at something her sister said and his eye was drawn down to the excruciatingly unfair bikini she wore. White, tight, and small enough to stuff in a contact lens case. Normal by bikini standards, but on Marta it was altogether sinful.

She turned around to call to her lagging sister and he could clearly see that the cut of the bottoms was designed to show off the wearer’s…assets. 

“You’re gonna start drooling if you don’t close your mouth, Detective,” Elena said, amusement clear in her voice. But Benoit barely heard her, his attention suddenly focused with lasersharp precision on the lifeguard who had walked over to the two young women. Muscled and handsome, with a clear knowledge of both and their affect on the opposite sex, he lowered a pair of aviators as he chatted with Marta and Alice. The lifeguard’s attention lingered on certain parts of Marta for just a second longer than Benoit was comfortable with. He shushed himself internally; Marta was capable of handling her own affairs. She didn’t need, nor want, a rescuer.

He cleared his throat, reaching for his Kindle but stopped as the padding of feet on sand captured his attention. Alice was nearly back at their little camp, wringing out her hair as she moved around to the cooler. Concern had him turning to address her.

“Alice, what on earth are you doing, leaving your sister alone with some strange man?”

Alice paused in the act of grabbing a soda, shooting him a look. “Uh, she’s an adult,  _ Dad _ ,” she said, her tone mocking. Cracking the tab of her drink, she took a sip. “She can do what she wants.”

Benoit looked to Elena for backup but she was suddenly absorbed in a copy of People magazine, the damn thing held open right in front of her face. Benoit turned around, his teeth on edge and his gaze returning to Marta and the young man. His ire began to soften as he took in her lovely face and animated gestures, but when the lifeguard lifted a hand to brush a wet lock of her hair over her shoulder, Benoit had to suppress the desire to leap out of the chair and land his fist in the younger man’s face. For all he knew, she welcomed the attention, maybe even— 

His gaze narrowed. All his years of detective work has taught him an encyclopedic amount about body language and the minute tells that signaled vital information. But Marta’s body language wasn’t subtle in that moment, not in the least. She was broadcasting discomfort, her smile false and brittle as the youth yammered on, her unease going unnoticed, or perhaps simply ignored.

She glanced his way for a split second and it was enough. He practically launched himself from his chair, ripping his shirt off and tossing it behind him—wouldn’t do to get it dirty should a scuffle arise—and made a beeline for Marta. She glanced at him again and her gaze stayed, relief evident in the slight sink of her shoulders.

He heard the boy’s ridiculous voice as he drew closer.

“So, like, I mean, we could totally cut out after my shift, and, like—”

Benoit stopped at Marta’s side, his attention solely for her. She gazed up at him with naked gratitude, a brilliant smile curving her beautiful mouth. The intensity of it took his breath away and they simply stared at one another for a moment before the idiot lifeguard interrupted.

“Oh, hey, dude.” A hand was shoved under his nose. “You must be Marta’s dad, right? Great girl you got here.”

Benoit pursed his lips, laughing through his nose and trying hard not to be offended.

“Her father? No. No, that distinction belonged to a man far better than I, I’m afraid,” he said, letting a bit of acid into his tone. The lifeguard swallowed, glancing at Marta with some nervousness. “You see, Marta and I—”

“Are together,” she interrupted, sliding her hand into his and interlacing their fingers. He had just enough presence of mind to hide his shock behind a cool smile. “And I’m late for lunch, aren’t I?” She glanced at him, her big green eyes pleading. His heart clenched.

If only she knew he’d do anything for her; she never had to beg, merely ask. His smile turned genuine, filled with all the affection he felt for her. He released her hand, but only to bring both of his up to cup her face. If this was the only chance he had, then by God, he wasn’t going to waste it.

“Better late than never, darling.”

He dipped his head, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to her lips, one full of the longing he’d held for months, since the close of the Thrombey case. After a moment, he ended the kiss, lifting his head to smile at her. She looked dazed, her lips parted and her eyes fluttering back open slowly.

“Care to come back with—”

He cut off with a muffled noise of surprise as she threw her arms around his neck and planted a far less chaste kiss on his lips than he’d given her. He stumbled back a step, then found his balance, wrapping his arms tightly around her ocean-cold body, his big hands spanning across her back. She hummed in delight as she kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair and fisting lightly, goosebumps rising along his skin at the sensation. 

All too soon she ended the kiss and it was his turn to blink in amazement, his thoughts scattered about his mind. Those eyes of hers held a hint of wariness and she bit her lip, sliding her hands down his chest. He nearly moaned at the feel of her touch.

“Benoit,” she whispered, “is…was that ok?”

He glanced up. The younger man was gone so he nodded, looking at her once more. “Yes. He’s, ah, he’s gone. It worked.”

A little frown notched between her brows. “No, that’s not what I meant.” She dropped her chin, running her thumb over a tiny patch of skin on his bare pectoral. “I meant the-the second kiss.”

It was his turn to frown. “I’m not sure I understand.”

She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “He left during our first kiss. The second…that was a choice.” She finally looked back up. “Was it the wrong one?”

He stared at her, not quite believing his own ears. He brought his hands up to grasp hers where they lay on his chest. In for a penny, he thought.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months.”

A smile even more brilliant than the previous one spread across her face. “So have I.”

He leaned down, brushing his nose against hers. “Marta…will you have dinner with me?” He was rewarded with a light, lovely laugh and a nod. 

“I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (thanks, 12 years of Spanish!):
> 
> Hijito mio/hijito - 'my little son', or just an affectionate way to say 'my son'.  
> Que carajo - what the fuck  
> Somos Cubanos - We're Cuban  
> Title: Somos Querido - We Are Wanted


End file.
